


The Burn Book

by thatfangirl



Category: The Facts of Life
Genre: F/F, Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-01
Updated: 2008-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-05 11:46:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatfangirl/pseuds/thatfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The slam book was resting on the table, its leather cover shining beneath the dining-room lights.  Jo gave it a push; it slid easily to Blair.</i>  Episode tag for 3x20 "Kids Can Be Cruel."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Burn Book

**Author's Note:**

> I think _The Facts of Life_ belongs to NBC/Sony. At any rate, no money is being made and no infringement is intended.

"You never cease to amaze and disgust me."

Jo looked down at the toothpick in her hand, then stuck it between her molars and grinned.

Blair closed her eyes, opened them, and gamely continued, "I wanted to thank you for...giving me the push I needed to have dinner with Rocky—with Carl. He's a nice guy."

The slam book was resting on the table, its leather cover shining beneath the dining-room lights. Jo gave it a push; it slid easily to Blair. "Write that here."

Blair did, signing it not with her number, but her initials. Jo snorted at that, then took the pen from Blair's hand. When she returned it, _Not completely awful_ had been added to Blair's page.

Blair preened. "Coming from you, that's practically a proposal." She flipped to the Ps, then slammed the book shut.

"Blair—"

"Goodness, I'm tired. Good night!"

"Blair!" Jo's voice pinned her halfway out of her chair. "Give it to me, Blair." Meekly, she handed over the book and sunk back into her seat.

"It was Margo, I know it was," Blair interjected. Jo was staring at where Blair knew _Obviously a bulldyke_ had been written beneath Polniaczek. Blair took back the book, promising, "I'll throw it out. I'll burn it. Anyway, no one saw it, and even if they did, everyone knows about Eddie. My God, you were about to consummate your relationship when I rescued you from that horrible hotel."

Jo stood. "Get your coat."

Blair tightened her grip on the book. "Why?"

"We're going for a ride."

"We are?" Jo's eyes, which should've been giving her a glare to melt bone, were flat. Somehow, they had the same effect. "I mean, we are. Where?"

"I've got this place in the woods off Skyview Ridge."

"You want to take me to Makeout Mountain? I hardly think that'll help—"

"Blair, you're not seriously worried that someone will think you're a dyke, too?"

"A d—" Blair's mouth twisted distastefully. "Of course not. That would be ridiculous—"

"Then get your coat. You said you'd burn it; we'll burn it."

Blair got her coat and got on the back of Jo's bike. She didn't complain about the bugs getting in her teeth or the damage being done to her hair as she hung onto Jo for dear life. Once she had safely disembarked, however, she did complain about picking her way through the woods in the dark: "Honestly, Jo, I could break my ank—"

Blair's protest died as they entered a neat clearing. At the center, a fire pit was carefully ringed with smooth, flat stones, and a battered lawn chair sat next to a plastic cooler. Imperiously, Blair sat down while Jo pulled an old newspaper from the cooler and began to build a fire.

Blair pressed her palms against the slam book. "This was a stupid idea." Jo looked up sharply and she elaborated, "The book, not...disposing of it." She craned her neck, examining the glade. "This is actually nice. Do you come here a lot?"

"Only when I need to get away from you."

"Then hardly ever."

"Hardly." Jo lit the newspaper with her Bic; after a moment, the logs caught as well. Humming with satisfaction, Jo produced a bottle of cheap whiskey from the cooler. She took a drink and didn't offer any to Blair. Blair cleared her throat and glared at the bottle; Jo rolled her eyes and handed it over. Blair took a cautious sniff and handed it back; Jo laughed. "Give me that," she said, pointing at the slam book.

Blair did and watched as Jo added _Can't hold her liquor_ to _Not completely awful_. "You can't write that!" she protested. "I haven't had any liquor, so how would you know if I can hold it?"

"If you can't bring yourself to drink it, I _know_ you can't hold it." Jo took another drink and looked forlornly at her chair. "You're not going to let me sit, are you?"

"I _am_ your guest." Blair held out her palm. "Now give me the bottle and a clothespin for my nose and I'll show you how I hold my liquor."

"Your funeral." Jo deposited the bottle in Blair's lap and meditatively flipped through the slam book. "You're right, this was not another one of your brilliant ideas. Now drink up."

Hesitantly, Blair sipped, then sputtered. "This is appalling!"

"Mm," Jo agreed, ripping out pages and feeding them to the fire. "Here's yours."

Blair looked down at all the nice things people had written about her and wanted to put the paper in her pocket, but Jo was watching expectantly, so she dropped it into the flames. She thought that Jo's chicken scratch burned last of all. "Now you," she prompted, taking another sip of whiskey.

Jo smiled tightly and pitched a wad of paper at the coals. She warmed her hands as it ignited. "Nice night," she commented, looking up at the small circle of stars.

"We're outside. It's cold. It's..." Blair sighed, not one of her slow leaks, but an exasperated capitulation. "It's a nice night. Now can we please go home?"

Jo turned away from the fire. "Gotta let this burn down, then pour sand on it and stomp it out."

"Whatever you say, Smokey. But I'm _cold_."

"Then get off your ass and get closer to the fire." She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it at Blair.

Blair slipped on the jacket, then recapped the whiskey and slipped it into the cooler. "We're friends, aren't we, Jo?" she asked as she scooted the chair forward.

"Something like that."

"Then you realize that for all that I mock your fashion sense—and your hobbies—and your manners—"

"Get on with it, Blair."

"That doesn't mean I think you're a, well, you know."

"I know, Blair," Jo said tiredly. "I know."

"Then you know I'm not making fun when I say we could share."

"Share?"

She bounced against the interwoven nylon. "The chair. I could sit on your lap." When Jo hesitated, Blair stood and guided her into the chair, then perched on her knees. "There." Tentatively, she leaned back. "That's not so bad."

"Blair..." Jo laughed. "Watch the stars, Blair." And while the stars slid steadily to the west, Jo's hands left the armrests to settle on Blair's hips. That wasn't so bad, either.


End file.
